


just when i thought i was over you (i see your face and it just ain’t true)

by soran_rising



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Jewelry, ex-friends to Lovers, gay shit, i almost kissed you but stopped talking to you instead, i am an angst machine wow, reconnecting, set in 2025, tw:depression/anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22339351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soran_rising/pseuds/soran_rising
Summary: “Waiting for someone?” Becky says, lips quirked up in a smile.“Nah.” Kelley takes another sip, “Just sizing up our ex-teammates.”Becky laughs, “you say ex-teammates like every single one of them is an ex-girlfriend who hurt you.”“I mean, I’d say that’s accurate.”“You’re being dramatic.”“You haven’t seen dramatic.”ORThe one where it's 2025 and Kelley and Emily reconnect at a USWNT reunion.
Relationships: Kelley O'Hara/Emily Sonnett
Comments: 37
Kudos: 170





	1. i can tell that you are at your best (i’m selfish so i’m hating it)

**Author's Note:**

> hi y'all
> 
> sorry for the lack of updates. i had some writer's block because i was trying to go against my own grain and write fic for a ship that's not my cup of tea... but i read a book this weekend with languid prose and this just poured out of me despite all the other work i have to do, so... a win for y'all!
> 
> fic title from i go crazy by paul davis (an oldie but a goodie!)  
chapter title from cherry by harry styles (see, i can hang with the youngins too!) 
> 
> twitter (and most social media) isn't necessarily sparking joy rn, so if you enjoy, please leave a comment so that i see it sooner rather than later :) 
> 
> enjoy!

It was inevitable, really. That they would run into each other here.

And Kelley had purposely dressed down—she was wearing loose-fitting blue linen shorts and a bright orange top—had purposely tried her best to look like the event she was attending hadn’t been the subject of her thoughts since it was announced in May. For Alex, beside her in designer jeans and a top that was at least two thousand dollars, dressing up seemed to function like putting on armor. Alex was 35 now, still stunning but now pulling at the wrinkles in the mirror like that could stop the sand in the hourglass. She’d even poked and prodded at Kelley’s appearance, and only backed off when Kelley had insisted with a gentle confidence that she felt fine about how she looked and was unwilling to change.

And to be fair, she wasn’t lying: her appearance was the least of her worries. Watching her own reflection in the mirror was sometimes the only thing that made her feel like herself, what with all the change. At 36, and only two years into her retirement, Kelley still looked more or less the way she remembered looking. Less tan, maybe. Squishier in places than she’d like to be. She eyed her own wrinkles with gentle fondness, and tried not to remember the way her girlfriend had insisted on kissing them some mornings, when the two of them would lie together, lost in warm sheets and the soft light that comes with daybreak.

They weren’t together anymore; the first of many things that hadn’t gone Kelley’s way this year. She’d fought hard against the separation, pushing therapy, becoming overly fond and clingy to the point where it was almost pathetic.

Ultimately it was her own looming depression—something Kelley had had very little experience with up until that point—that had driven her partner away. She’d arrived home to her mother’s in Georgia to the question “but what do you have to be depressed about?” and nearly laughed in her face before rushing up the stairs to her childhood bedroom and screaming into a balled-up pillow.

She was living there now, in Georgia. Making good on a few of her partnerships, checking in on a few different companies she had stakes in, but mostly moping. Sleeping a lot. Playing with her parent’s dogs.

It’d been almost three months.

She hadn’t forgotten about the USWNT reunion. It loomed large in her calendar. Sometimes she would just open her calendar and stare at it, unsure if she could really find the strength to book the flights and hotel reservations and make it happen. And that’s where Alex had come in.

“You can’t just _not go_.”

“Watch me.”

“This is dumb, Kell. Like, very silly,” Alex had said then, over the phone. Kelley could hear her frying something, and found a strange comfort in the sound of sizzling before Alex interrupted again: “Don’t make me talk to you like I talk to my five-year-old.”

“I’m not _making_ you do anything.” And if her tone is on the childish side, she’ll chalk it up to the fact that she’s watching cartoons in her pajamas.

“Look, I already emailed my assistant to get her to buy you the flights. You’ll come, you’ll stay here, and we’ll go together,” and then, somewhat acknowledging the unsaid undercurrent of their conversation, “You’ll have me by your side the whole time, okay Wormy? And who knows, maybe you’ll even find a way to have fun.”

…and that’s how Kelley had ended up here, getting out of an Uber and walking arm-in-arm with Alex toward double glass doors that lead to, ostensibly, a room full of people she used to know.

And okay, fine, “used to know” is dramatic—lifelong friendships still counted for something… but most of those friendships had dwindled down to their dormant forms, only coming out for birthdays and holidays and random yearly meetups that resulted in polite-but-stilted conversation.

She knew, for example, that Tobin and Christen would be happy to see her. From what she could see on instagram they’d built a beautiful life together in Portland, raising their army of dogs while co-running Re-Inc, which was now a successful elite clothing brand. Chris still had Kelley on some mailing list somewhere, so every few months Kelley would get a shipment of free clothes and forget to text a quick thank you, which mostly made Kelley feel like shit.

A few other people she adored would be there. HAO, for one—they’d gotten lunch roughly six months ago, the last time Heather had been in DC to scout new players. Hope, maybe, if she was lucky. Though she wasn’t entirely sure she would be.

Becky would be there too, probably lingering near a bar somewhere, ready to corner Kelley and ask her the tough questions. Interestingly, Becky had stuck around through the rougher parts of Kelley’s last couple years, and still called Kelley every week without fail—usually on Thursday mornings while she perused whatever was available at her local farmer’s market, haggling with vendors—and strangely, without much friction from Kelley at all, they’d quickly become close friends.

And maybe it’s that being friends with Kelley right now seems to inspire some obvious sense of worry, but Becky had recently taken to calling her twice, sometimes three times a week. Whatever it was, Kelley wasn’t complaining. Phone calls with Alex took coordinating with an assistant, and, well, Kelley’s mother was getting tired of listening…

So she was excited to see Becky, at least. If she was lucky she might even be able to hole up with Becky and avoid talking to some of the people that overwhelmed her.

Notably, most of those people were people she used to call the youngins—Rose Lavelle, Lindsey Horan, Sam Mewis—and listing off their names felt like reading off a list of influential women in sports. The kiddos were adults now, in almost every sense of the word, with Sam having just given birth to a baby girl and Rose and Lindsey having each gotten married in the past couple of years. Mal Pugh and Sophia Smith were the current hotshot stars, while Tierna Davidson and Emily Sonnett lead a stellar defense. The kids were now the veteran backbone of the USWNT, and Kelley was very proud.

It also made her inexplicably sad in a way she couldn’t fully describe. Becky had pressed her about it once, as though hoping that getting to the bottom of the answer might help Kelley intrinsically, like a form of therapy. Instead it had done the opposite—it had made Kelley feel even more alone in this weird kind of jealousy, hearing that Becky didn’t share in the feeling. After all, what type of person can’t move on from her team?

Deep down, she knew the answer. Leaving the national team—actually, leaving the sport in general—had never been her choice. Her ankle had done her in early in the 2023 season, effectively ending her career and making the 2023 World Cup and 2024 Olympics goals she would never reach.

Most of her teammates had been devastated to hear the news back then. She’d felt so supported: teammates, best friends, a loving supportive girlfriend she could still picture a future with. She’d thought maybe it was good for her, stepping back. Maybe it was time to think about the future and move forward.

Instead, she’d just floundered.

The free time, the lack of responsibilities, the way she’d just started to slip away, no longer at the forefront of anyone’s mind—it fed her depression, making her feel a special type of worthless. Like she was drowning and had no idea how to swim. Like everything she’d ever accomplished never mattered, because now she was nothing.

There’d been moments where it hadn’t felt that way, of course, especially during the World Cup. She’d come on as a commentator and had a blast with Heather, cheering for her team as Alex helped the USWNT somehow win what felt like an impossible third World Cup in a row. Alex had kept her close, dragging her with the team to restaurants and outings. Tobin had brought her up in an interview, crediting her with a specific defensive maneuver.

And then there was Sonnett.

Sonnett, who’d taken her place on the field.

It was Emily’s first tournament as a starter for the National Team. She was wearing Kelley’s lucky number 5, a strange-but-natural feeling for both of them. Kelley can remember clearly the moment she watched Emily first take the field in that number; the shaky smile she’d given her from the stands. Emily had waved—a small one, but one Kelley had tucked away in her memory—and had then taken the field and gone on to have a near-perfect tournament, the likes of which might likely never be repeated.

And Kelley was insanely proud.

She’d told Emily that, later. After the press had died down and the insane celebration week-from-hell had ended. Emily had flown out to DC to spend a few days with Kelley while Kelley’s partner had been travelling for work. She’d arrived with little fanfare, cozying up in Kelley’s guest bedroom like it was made for her and forcing Kelley to get out and exercise. Kelley had chosen a quiet morning one day, sipping tea on the balcony, to say it:

“I’m proud of you.”

Part of her felt an obligation to tell her as something of a mentor—understandable, given their relationship and the amount of investment she’d had in Emily’s career and development over the years—but another part of her knew these were words that Emily did not hear often. That part of her was Emily’s best friend.

And Emily, nearly 30 then, had laughed it off. She nearly always did, as taking herself seriously was not one of her strong suits.

But Kelley had pressed again, “Really, I am.” And Emily had quieted down, taking that in with a soft smile; the type of smile Kelley knew was genuine.

“Thank you,” she’d said, and then promptly looked down at her hands, “I, uh—this is gonna sound ridiculous, but… I really did it all for you.”

She’d taken a breath, and this one was shaky. It was a pause, a thought, and Kelley knew with certainty then that whatever was coming next was a big admission—Sonnett so rarely thought carefully about her words.

“I just had you in my mind the whole time. We had to win it for you. Because you couldn’t be there.” She’d looked up then, blue eyes blinking in the morning light before finding Kelley’s. Emily was turned a little in her seat, and had angled her body away from Kelley’s on the outdoor sofa in order to better meet her gaze.

“I wasn’t going to let you down.”

And Kelley had straightened up a little then, noting the way the air around them had changed: something about that conversation felt so nakedly intimate. And historically Kelley and Emily weren’t the type of friends that did this: this admitting they care about each other thing. Emily especially.

Kelley could feel the weight of Emily’s admission sitting between them.

“You couldn’t let me down, Sonny. Never.”

She’d pulled Emily into her arms, forcing her to shift around so they can cuddle comfortably on the loveseat. It’d taken a her full minute to realize that Emily had started to cry silent tears. She’d turned, fingers edging a few stray hairs out of Emily’s eyes, and for some reason the expression on Emily’s face had struck her like lightning. There was, for a brief moment, something electric about the air between them, and Kelley felt something pulling at her gut, asking her to, of all things, _lean in—_

She hadn’t. She’d held Emily’s face there for a beat before gently moving to give her a kiss on the forehead and pulling her into a deep hug.

And now, nearly two years later, Kelley still sees that moment in dreams. Sometimes she wakes up and for a second forgets the world around her and society and friendship and all of the expectations and wonders if Sonnett had wanted her to lean in. She tries to stop wondering this and accomplishes this task with varying success.

It gets both easier and harder: had she known that that moment was the last time she and Sonnett would really speak, she might’ve done something differently.

What seemed like an unbreakable bond between them had shifted when texts went unanswered and depression hit Kelley like a train. Emily had stopped reaching out, and, unsure why she had, Kelley had given her the same treatment in return, hoping that eventually one of them would break and the river of friendship between them would go back to flowing the way it used to.

Instead it never did.

#

As expected, Kelley found herself curled up at the bar with Becky, who seemed happy to have her company. The rest of the nearly 100 people invited filed in slowly, and for the most part Kelley had been able to steer clear of any unwanted or unwelcome interaction, happy to hear about Becky’s new kitten.

Alex had, predictably, ditched Kelley to do press. Still, even a year off the USWNT, Alex loomed large—Kelley wondered if she would always somehow be the face of the team. She had retired from the sport to start her own production company and had purchased a stake in the 4-year-old LAFC NWSL team she used to play for, overseeing how it was run along with Mia Hamm herself.

Alex had transitioned out of the sport with grace, and so had Becky, and Christen, and a few of the others. Tobin still stubbornly played for the Thorns, too good for them to drop her but not good enough to continue to make the National Team over all that young talent. Kelley felt for Tobin in her bones.

But Kelley had had the hardest time, it felt like, out of anyone. The hardest time adjusting to civilian life, to seeing her friends in centerfold ads, to only getting glimpses of their lives through things like twitter and Instagram.

Anyway, that’s how she was justifying throwing back the beer she’d just ordered.

“_Kell_.” Becky’s voice has taken on its _captain_ tone, and Kelley puts her glass down violently in protest, “let’s not make a mess.”

“Shut up. I’m fine.” There’s a flash of blond hair at the door and Kelley’s eyes dart to it before she can stop them. It’s just Abby Dahlkemper.

“Waiting for someone?” Becky says, lips quirked up in a smile.

“Nah.” Kelley takes another sip, “Just sizing up our ex-teammates.”

Becky laughs, “you say ex-teammates like every single one of them is an ex-girlfriend who hurt you.”

Kelley doesn’t laugh. “I mean, I’d say that’s accurate.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You haven’t _seen_ dramatic.”

Kelley spots her then, entering alongside Rose and her husband—a flash of blond hair and freckled shoulders and suddenly Kelley’s heart is beating _hard_. She watches the group with interest as they check in at the table and put on nametags. Emily looks nearly identical to the last time she saw her. She doesn’t seem to have a significant other in tow, and follows Rose and her husband silently, like her mind is somewhere else.

“You gonna talk to her?” Becky says, lips skimming the rim of her glass.

Kelley’d made the unfortunate mistake of telling Becky on one long harrowing night how specifically not speaking to Sonnett was making her feel. She’d left out the almost-kiss (or maybe just the option-for-a-kiss, how does one really refer to that?) on purpose, trying her best not to betray her maybe-more-than-friendly feelings. But somehow Becky had caught on anyway, because that was just who Becky was.

“I don’t know.”

“You should.”

Kelley frowns, finishing off the last of her beer before swallowing and saying, “The old me would have.”

“You’re still you, Kell.”

“Yeah, but… I used to just, do things. Go after what I wanted. But now… it’s just… harder.”

Becky gives her a sad smile, “It doesn’t have to be.”

Kelley scratches at the back of her neck, pursing her lips. Maybe it isn’t that hard. None of these people have seen her in years—they don’t know her anxiety, her awkwardness, her over-thinking brain that just won’t shut off. They remember her differently… so why not masquerade a little?

She spots Emily standing alone, eyes searching, and decides now is as good a time as any.

“You’re right.”

She flags down the bartender, orders two beers, and then takes them both in her hands.

“Bold,” Becky says, eying her with a smile, “good luck.”

“I’ll need it.” Is all she says, taking her beers, squaring her shoulders back, and trying to walk with confidence over to where Emily is standing.

She registers the exact moment Emily notices her from across the room—the energy from their eyes meeting hits her like a shot to the heart—and after a few beats she starts to fear that her arrival and offering won’t be welcome. But then Emily smiles soft and small, like she’s got a secret, and Kelley can’t keep herself from beaming at her. It’s like no time has passed at all.

She walks up, hands Sonnett a beer, and tries to keep herself from smiling too wide like a moron. Emily stares down at her, mouth a little open in wonder.

“Hi” Kelley says, and, too late, she’s smiling like a moron.

“Hi.” Emily says, taking the beer in her hands, “what are we drinking?”


	2. you smiled (and then the spell was cast)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this is not the fic anyone wanted updated, i apologize  
i cannot control where the inspiration hits in these trying times
> 
> plz enjoy regardless <3
> 
> chapter title comes from etta james' "at last" because we all deserve big cheesy love songs rn

The last time Kelley had seen Emily in person was the day she’d insisted on dropping Emily off at the Dulles airport.

It was a vaguely stormy day—the type of day that looked like shit the moment you rolled out of bed, but didn’t like, make good on its promise to rain—and Emily had worn this cute rain jacket that had etched itself into Kelley’s memory: it was multicolored (but mostly red) and hung off her frame in a way that made her look so small that Kelley just wanted to take her into her arms and hold her and never let go.

She hadn’t done that, of course.

They’d hugged on the curb. And then, for some ridiculous reason, Kelley had pulled Sonnett’s hood over her head, biting back a laugh at Emily’s adorable-but-confused smile.

“Gotta keep you safe and dry.”

“I’m going inside.”

“I know.” Kelley adjusted her hood again, smiling. “Just, uh... take care of yourself, okay? And don’t be a stranger.” Kelley had had trouble making eye contact, and couldn’t fully explain why—something about the way Emily had looked at her had felt searing, like too much eye contact might cause either or both of them to do something stupid.

“I’ll text so much you’ll get sick of me, I promise.” Sonnett had said then, and in that moment Kelley had believed her. She’d had no reason not to.

And then Emily had looked down, biting her lip, and pulled something from her pocket: a bright Tiffany-green jewelry bag. She’d looked so nervous then; Kelley could see her face in her mind’s eye, even now. Emily had dropped the bag into Kelley’s hands and her mouth had quirked up into that tiny half-smile, the one Kelley associated with Emily’s desire to appear comfortable with the uncomfortable. But Kelley saw right through it.

“For your birthday. Don’t open it till I leave, okay?”

Something turned over in Kelley’s stomach then, warning her what territory this interaction was crossing into. Holding what was clearly jewelry in her hands, watching Sonnett’s eyes look anywhere but hers… Kelley’s heart rate spiked. She found herself suddenly stumbling over her words, knowing this interaction possibly confirmed where Emily stood on the near-kiss they’d almost shared a day earlier.

“Em.” She’d said. Emily was still not looking at her, and there was something charged about it now: before the eye contact might’ve killed Kelley, but now the lack of eye contact was driving her crazy. Kelley would’ve said almost anything to get Emily to look up at her.

“_Em_.” She’d repeated, when Emily hadn’t looked up.

And finally Emily’s gaze had flicked up to meet hers. Something about it had still felt different, though.

“I should really go.”

They’d hugged one last time then—mostly, Kelley suspected, to break the eye contact—and then Sonnett had quickly tried to run off without another word.

“Call me when you get there, okay?” Kelley had called out, just as Emily turned away.

And despite all of it, Emily had turned around then, giving Kelley a soft, simple smile, one Kelley would later read as slightly sad, or maybe resigned.

“I will.”

#

The surprising intensity of that final interaction with Emily had stuck with Kelley long after she’d gotten back in the car and started the drive back to her house. She’d kept replaying the entire scene over in her mind, focused on the faraway look in Emily’s eyes as she’d walked away. It took her almost ten minutes to realize she’d forgotten to open Emily’s gift.

She’d dug the little baggie out at a stoplight, pulling the pendant out and turning it over in her hands. It was small, tasteful “K” clearly made of real silver. On the back she’d found a message engraved, so small she had to lean in to read it:

_yours always, _

_ es_

She’d stared at it till the car behind her had honked. The sight of the pendant had her choking on her words. Regret pulled at her throat, and she was suddenly overcome with a sense of profound unease: combined with the birthday visit and the near-kiss the night before… what did this mean?

Half of her was elated at the thought that Emily possibly felt some way about her. The other half berated that first half, insisting that Kelley was making more out of a friendly interaction than she needed to, and that that weird elation could constitute as emotional cheating.

She’d sent a text then, one Emily had never responded to, followed by another Kelley would grow to regret:

**Kelley O’Hara:** _Thank you for the gift. I mean it. I’m speechless… call me when you land, okay? _

**Kelley O’Hara**: _I love you._

#

“You’re wearing it.” Is how Emily Sonnett chooses to start the first real conversation they’ve had in years.

They’re fresh off the dance floor, fresh off attempting old choreography with their dumbass friends. Rose had lead the endeavor, goading Sonny into her usual clownery, forcing the entire 2019 World Cup team to join them on the dance floor.

And Emily wasn’t ignoring Kelley. She wasn’t even avoiding her, really. There was a strange ease to their interaction, one Kelley could tell surprised Emily as much as it was surprising her. One beer and a lot of the awkwardness they’d both anticipated had faded, but Kelley wasn’t ready to count her chickens yet.

See, having Emily around again was… intoxicating. Laughing, joking, dancing—all things Kelley had gotten used to not having in her life—came easily with Emily. It was like coming up for air. Kelley had immediately decided that she could never lose Emily again. She had to do whatever it took to win her over. Even just platonically.

Luckily she’d managed to get Emily alone at the bar.

“Oh. Yeah. I wear it a lot.” Kelley admits, flushing, and only after a second wonders if she’s said too much. But then Emily reaches forward to touch the pendant around Kelley’s neck, admiring it, and Kelley’s heart jumps in her chest.

(Okay, so maybe what she wanted was more than strictly platonic.)

“I didn’t know if you would.” Emily’s hand pulls back, cautious, as though suddenly realizing she’s crossed a boundary. Kelley tries not to focus on that, instead jumping to the first thing she can think to comment on.

  
“Your accent—“ She cuts herself off when Emily gives her a sigh and knowing look.

“California killed it. Yours is mighty strong, though.”

“I’ve been living back in Atlanta.”

“So I’ve heard.” There’s a flirty edge to Sonnett’s words, and Kelley’s not sure if she’s just imagining it, so she tries her luck.

“I’ve heard things about you, too,” and she can tell Emily knows what she’s about to say from her eye roll, “weren’t you dating a model?”

Emily takes a sip of her beer with a cocky smile, letting Kelley sit with her question. When she finally puts her glass down, she shakes her head, smiling a little.

“Why is that always the first thing people ask about?”

“Because it’s notable.” Emily actually laughs out loud at that, but makes no move to answer Kelley’s question.

“Is it true?”

Emily grins, then sighs again, “It was. Until, you know, she realized what a massive dork I was.”

“Surprised you managed to keep that under wraps.”

“No one was more surprised than me.”

Kelley watches Lindsey Horan approach from over Emily’s shoulder.

“Oop, we got company.” Kelley says, watching as Emily turns to look. As soon as Lindsey walks up Kelley can feel a shift in tension; something about the way Lindsey’s eyeing Emily feels curious.

It’d been nearly two years since she’d seen Emily, and probably almost a year since she’d last seen Lindsey. Of everyone close to Emily, Lindsey was the only one that seemed to have deliberately iced Kelley out. Given how close Lindsey and Emily were, it wasn’t particularly surprising, but it did hurt.

And though the piece of her that’s still hurt at Emily is almost doubly hurt at Lindsey, Kelley refuses to let it show. Despite Emily’s cold reception, she greets Lindsey with a deep hug.

“Linds! It’s so good to see you.”

“Good to see you too.” Lindsey returns easily. She turns to Sonnett, clearly communicating something with a look, and then says, “I just wanted to make sure you knew about the after party.”

“After party?” Kelley says, then, trying to break the weird tension with a laugh, “God, I’m so old that that mostly sounds exhausting.”

“Kelley O’Hara? Turning down an invite to party?” Emily says, smiling in her direction. Her eyes crinkle at the edges like she’s genuinely amused, and Kelley feels a surge of pride at having caused it.

“Hey, it’s been known to happen.” She replies, once again toeing a flirtatious line. She can see a thought take hold in Lindsey’s mind, and before either of them can say anything, Lindsey’s taking a step back.

“I should get back. See you later?” She directs the question at Sonnett, who then looks questioningly at Kelley. Lindsey doesn’t wait for an answer. As she goes, she grabs and squeezes one of Emily’s hands, giving her a long look. Kelley looks down at her beer, feeling like she’s missing something.

“So you’re really not gonna go?” Emily asks once Lindsey’s left.

“Nah. I’m staying with Alex and she’ll want to get home to her kids. I’ll probably have another beer and tap out.” With that, she downs the last of her current beer and wipes at her lips with the back of her hand. She finds Emily staring at her when she’s finished, a calculating look in her eyes.

When the bartender comes back over, Emily waves Kelley off, placing a hand over hers and offering to pay her bill.

And well, there go Kelley’s plans for the night.

#

The “after party” consists of a small group of them that choose to move to a nearby bar. The crowd’s a bit younger than the cohort Kelley had come up with—Sophia Smith and her boyfriend, for example—but are overall good company, especially for what Kelley assumes are a few more low-key drinks.

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, depending on who you ask), low-key drinks turn into time on the dance floor—an activity that, admittedly, Kelley’s a bit too drunk for. Luckily Emily seems to catch on quickly, helping Kelley over to the booth. They talk about nothing for what seems like ages; Kelley can barely keep the topic of conversation straight, lost in Emily’s eyes. She’s enraptured by her—her freckles, her laugh lines, her smirk—and there’s a fondness she sees clear and certain in Emily’s gaze. One that’s she’s missed. One she never thought she’d see again, if she’s being honest.

Time passes and one by one their friends return lazily to the booth. Without really thinking about it, Kelley cuts herself off and switches to water, wanting to remember this. She lets herself sit in the moment, feeling the camaraderie, the sense of family, the sense of _belonging_ that she’d let herself forget. She never thought she’d end up back here, feeling like this. She never thought she’d have Emily less than an arm’s length away, fingers brushing her own under the table.

Trying her luck, Kelley drapes one arm loosely around Emily’s back, resting it gently on the red leather of the seat, fingers inches away from Emily’s hip. She thinks Emily doesn’t notice—and how would she, with the killer anecdote she’s in the middle of—but eventually she feels Emily shift back a little, settling up against her. She knows she’s entering dangerous territory when she lets those fingers gravitate toward Emily’s hip (and sees a flash of something cross Lindsey’s expression that indicates as much) but Emily doesn’t stop her.

Emily doesn’t stop her when pays both their tabs, or when she grabs her hand at the bar, squeezing it. She doesn’t stop her when they head out to the street, when Kelley holds her hand in the gentle rain, working up the courage to say something, anything, before Emily’s Uber arrives.

Eventually the Uber does arrive. Undoing their hands, Emily gives Kelley a sad smile. “Well, uh, thanks for tonight,” she says, looking at the ground, “I… It was good to see you again.”

“You too.” Kelley says breathlessly. She’s hanging on Emily’s every word, unsure what any of this means.

“I guess I’ll… uh, see you around.”

She gives Kelley a smile and starts to back away, but Kelley can’t let things end this way.

“Wait.”

Emily stops.

“I… I can’t just—“

She cuts herself off, stumbling forward, pulling Emily down by the neck and leaning up for a kiss.

At first the shock of it seems almost too much for both of them to overcome—Emily doesn’t react, swaying unsteadily; Kelley flushes, uncertain of her own actions—but then Emily takes a step forward, placing a shaky hand at Kelley’s hip and melting into the kiss. It takes everything in Kelley not to react audibly to the way Emily presses closer, and before long she finds herself lost in it all, overcome with relief. She’s the first to pull away, and the sight of Emily all flustered, pupils blown, makes her want to lean in all over again.

(First though, she has to say something.)

“Don’t leave,” is what she says.

(What she means is: _don’t leave me_.)

She sees Emily think, her eyes filled with confusion. Kelley’s not above begging, she decides, and follows that up with, “I can’t… I can’t just let you go again. Please. I need you.”

Emily looks down at her, eyes soft, still frowning. She looks panic-stricken, as though maybe she could cry, and that’s when Kelley realizes there are tears streaming down her own cheeks. Emily takes a step forward, holding Kelley’s face in her hands. She brushes at Kelley’s tears with her thumbs, leaning in to give her a soft, tender kiss.

“Come home with me.”


End file.
